


Sugar Cookies

by applecameron



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 21:32:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8912845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron





	

"Can I touch you?" Eames is careful to say it at a normal volume. 

No answer. That's a 'no'. 

Eames approaches as close as he dares, then throws - gently! - a blanket, and then a second one, over Arthur, and grimaces in frustration when he sees Arthur shudder at the contact. 

He's on his side, eyes wide and unseeing. Eames withdraws and approaches the bed from outside his view, careful to make a normal-sounding amount of noise. Sneaking, whispering, are all triggers. He shoves a bolster pillow toward Arthur on the bed, so he has the feeling of a wall, a barrier against the world, at his back, and then vacates, careful to move quickly but unhurriedly. Arthur's facing the door, so Eames leaves it open, and puts the light in the hall bathroom on for good measure as he passes. 

Eames spends the better part of an hour baking, following the sugar-cookie recipe in Arthur's little box of handwritten recipes that lives on top of the refrigerator, for lack of anything better to do, and then leaning against the counter and re-reading the newspaper. He sips on some pu-erh tea and munches one of the warm biscuits idly.

He reaches for a pen, but doesn't like the Globe's crossword much, and considers, for the nth time, getting a New York TImes subscription. Sighs, instead. 

At the end of that better part of an hour, Eames tracks the sounds of Arthur heading into the bathroom. If he draws a tub, that's a bad sign, means he's still too shocky. But, no, there's just the usual plumbing noises of a toilet, then sink, and, a few moments later, the man himself appears, wrapped in one of the blankets. He still looks pale, and the whites of his eyes are too visible, but he makes eye contact with Eames, which is a huge plus. 

"Sit down, darling, and I'll make you a plate." Eames waits for him to sit at the tiny kitchen table, then quickly serves him. Arthur's hand is moderately steady when he doctors his cup. Good. 

Arthur consumes in silence, mostly, but the tea and the sugar-cookie biscuits appear to help revive him. In the friendly warmth of the kitchen, Eames can see color slowly seeping back under his skin. 

Finally: "These are good, Eames." 

"Thank you, darling." He waits for a moment. "I'm sorry about earlier." 

Arthur nods. "I know." 

There's no way they can make their evening plans, not with Arthur suddenly exhausted by his PTSD. His triggers are innocuous, all Eames did was move or lean or shuffle his feet the wrong way, in the wrong angle of Arthur's vision, he's not sure, and that was all it took. 

So, instead, after Arthur stands and declares he's going to sit on the sofa, Eames follows him a few minutes later (with the tea tray, just in case), puts The Thin Man in the player, and gives Arthur enough room to cuddle up to him, and, eventually, to share his blanket, which he does. 

About halfway through, Arthur is asleep. Eames spends the rest of the film watching him, far more beautiful with his mouth slack and hair going astray than even Myrna Loy bantering effortlessly with Bill Powell.


End file.
